Lena gently rolls over and snuggles further beneath
the covers. She inches closer to Paul’s side of the
bed, hoping to make contact. Her arm touches
something rather hairy and all of a sudden a giant
tongue licks her across the eye and nose. Lena jumps
up and makes a startled face, “Errugh!” Once sitting
straight up she realizes she is looking into the eyes
of Martha the sheep dog.

“Martha, you silly thing! What in the world are you
doing up here?” Lena giggles and pets the dog. A few
moments later she hears music coming from downstairs.
She pulls back the covers and inspects her ankle. It
was bruised but not quite as puffy as the night
before. Lena stands up cautiously and attempts to
walk across to the door. Her ankle is sore, but not
wobbly and she walks with a little limp. She hobbles
down the stairs and peers into the kitchen.

Lena sees Paul sitting at the table with coffee and an
acoustic guitar in front of him. Papers are spread
out all over the table and a cigarette is burning in
an ashtray. Lena steps quietly behind him and places
a hand on his shoulder, “How’s it going?”

Paul shudders a bit, not used to being taken off guard
in his own home, “Lena! You scared me! What are you
doing walking about?”

Lena sits down in the chair
beside him, “You have Martha to thank for that. She
took your place in bed this morning. How long have
you been up?” Paul gives a little smile. Lena
notices he needs to shave and looks a little scruffy.

“I haven’t been up that long, maybe an hour or two.
This song is racking me bloody brain! How’s your
ankle?”

Lena looks down and props her foot up on his
vacant knee, “It’s bruised and a little sore, but it
feels rather stable when I walk on it. I limp a
little, though.” She looks to Paul and sees him
shaking his head.
She looks at him questioningly, “What? What are you
shaking your head about?”

Paul sighs and pats her
foot, “You, you silly thing. You shouldn’t even be
walking on it to know that you’re limping. I’m taking
you back upstairs.” Paul rises and attempts to pick
her up but she scoots the chair backwards, “Please
Paul. I want to stay down here with you and drink
coffee.”

She pouts out her mouth a bit and and looks at him
innocently. Paul laughs and shrugs his shoulders, “I
can’t very well say no to that!”

Lena smiles triumphantly, “Good, now just go about
your business like I’m not even here. I’ll get some
coffee and be extremely quiet.”

She rises and Paul
pushes her back into the chair, “No. I’ll get you
some coffee and you can be quiet.” Paul strides over
to the coffee maker and pours Lena a cup. He walks
back to the table and hands her the cup, “Here you go.
Ready?” Lena takes a sip and nods excitedly.

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Lena yawns
and looks to the clock. She realizes that she needs
to call Madame and check on how she feels. Lena taps
Paul on the shoulder, “Paul. I’d better call Madame
Cordelia, I’m a little concerned about her and she is
probably worried about me too.” Paul shakes his head
in understanding and helps Lena up to the phone. She
leans against the wall and picks up the receiver.

The phone rings twice when Madame Cordelia picks up
abruptly, “Hello, this is Madame Cordelia!” Lena
jumps a bit from Madame’s boisterous greeting.

“Madame Cordelia, it’s me Len—er Anna. How are you
doing? Are you feeling any better?”

Madame Cordelia
sighs, “Oh, Anna darling, I’m just doing dreadful.
Jezebel has been hiding all morning and I haven’t been
able to go look for her because of my dizzy spells!”

Lena bites the side of her lip, “Do you want me to
come home? I’d be more than willing to help you!”

Madame Cordelia laughs heartily over the phone, “No,
Anna dear. If Jezebel wants to come out, she will; her
food is waiting for her. I’ve decided to close the
store today. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow. These
things come and go. You just concentrate on you ankle
and that lovely young man.”

Lena rolls her eyes, “Alright then Madame, I’ll be
home later today. I hope you feel better. Goodbye.”
Lena hangs up the phone and sighs. She turns to Paul,
“I hope that you don’t have any hot dates. Madame
Cordelia doesn’t want me to come home until later.
Really, I don’t want to get in your way. You can just
drop me off at the library or the store and I’ll sneak
in so Madame doesn’t get disturbed…”

Paul ushers her back to her wooden chair, “Lena, don’t
be ridiculous. I have to go to the studio, but that’s
not until later. I’ll run you a bath and you can come
along. Then I’ll take you home.”

Lena shakes her
head, “I’m sorry. I feel like such an inconvenience.
I shouldn’t have spent the night. Now I am getting in
the way of your work!”

Paul laughs, “Are you
finished? I believe that we need to get ready and
then off to the studio. Come on!”

Lena runs the hot water until the stream meets her
desired temperature. She sheds her clothes and puts a
foot into the steamy water, carefully trying not to
injure her ankle any further. As she submerges
herself in the tub, she begins to hum quietly. She
recognizes the tune as “Dock of the Bay” by Otis
Redding. Soon she stops humming and starts singing
out loud as she squirts shampoo the size of a quarter
on her palm.

As Lena is rinsing the remnants of conditioner from
her mass of hair, she hears a faint howling coming
from outside the door and a hysterical laugh from down
the hall. After the outside noises cease, she quickly
finishes up her bath and dries off. Lena wraps a
large, navy towel around her head then she dresses.
When she steps out of the bathroom rosy and flushed
from the heat, she walks cautiously into Paul’s room.

Paul is sitting on his bed putting on a pair of blue
socks. Lena falls down on the bed next to him, “Is
everything okay? I heard Martha howling.”

Paul looks
to her and hides a laugh, “Yeah, she was fine once you
stopped singing. She only howled at the part where
you whistled for fifteen minutes. Couldn’t seem to
get it right, eh?”

Lena turns a color that is more
burgundy than blush, as if appearing from the heat had
somehow amplified her embarrassment.
Lena shrugs sheepishly, “Sorry. I was never any good
at it anyway. Besides, I am not used to taking baths
in a strange man’s house.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, “So
I’m strange, eh? You’re the one walking around the
house looking like that bird from Sunset Boulevard.”

Lena pats her head and discovers the towel still
wrapped around her hair, “Oops.”

She releases her hair and shakes it loose. The warm,
clean smell of shampoo encompasses the room, “Well, if
I am Norma Desmond, then that means that you are my
William Holden. He’s one of my favorites, you know. Him
and Cary Grant…”

Paul looks her in the eye and
interrupts her, “Hey, Norma. I’m Mr. DeMille; are you
ready for your close-up?”

Lena stops in mid-sentence, “Huh?” Paul leans in and
kisses her so passionately that she finds herself on
her back and completely breathless. She pushes his
shoulders slightly and he releases her mouth.

She
gasps for air, “Wha-what was that?”

Paul plays with
her damp hair, “Didn’t you get it? The last line of
the movie where they are taking Norma away and she
says, ‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.’”

Lena
looks at him in a curious manner, secretly delighting
in the warmth of his weight on top of her, “But
William Holden wasn’t Mr. DeMille. He was that
screenwriter.”

Lena runs a hand through his
shiny brown hair, “I’m sorry, Paulie. You just took
me by surprise. I am very impressed.” She kisses his
cheek and inches out from beneath him. He rolls onto
his back and watches her slink to the doorway. As Lena
walks to the hallway she calls, “Let me put my face on
and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”